Sacred
by Madame Yoda
Summary: A sweet Hayffie story about what Effie actually hides under the wigs and scarves, and how Haymitch reacts when it's revealed.


"So you see, Katniss, dear," the sing-songy voice echoed through the cavernous hangar carved out of District 13's upper slopes, "you'll greet the people in the medical center, offer a few words of encouragement on camera, of course, and be back, safe and sound, in just a few hours."

Katniss nodded and smiled weakly as Effie and Haymitch took advantage of a few last minutes to fuss over her before she boarded the hovercraft for District 8. Filming gear, packed in canvas bags, sat in piles beside the ramp alongside several crates of light ammunition.

As she chattered away, Effie tugged and brushed at wrinkles on Katniss' Mockingjay costume. Haymitch tested the earpieces that would, in theory, keep them connected while Katniss was on the ground.

The crew began to lug equipment onto the craft.

Over Katniss' shoulder, Effie spotted a potential disaster.

"Oh no, no! Stop! That bag will have to be loaded _last_…"

Effie skirted around Katniss, clomping over piles of bags, attempting to reach the errant crewmember before he crushed the spare Mockingjay outfit she had stowed, just in case.

She was about half way to her target when the clumsy boot on her right foot became wedged between two heavy, oblong sacks, and she careened forward. The "political refugee" would have suffered little more than a bruised ego, landing on her hands and knees, had it not been for her proximity to the hovercraft's ramp. Those assembled winced as they watched the left side of Effie's head bounce off the sharp edge of the metal ramp on her way to, and about two feet above, the ground.

Everyone rushed forward. Helping hands grabbed elbows and forearms as a stunned Effie struggled to stand up. Those around her forced her into a sitting position on the edge of a nearby crate.

"I'm fine. I'm fine, really. Please let go," Effie insisted, her brow furrowed.

"Yer not gonna be fine when Coin finds out you were trying to break her plane with your head. Just _sit_, will you?" muttered Haymitch, trying to gauge whether both of her eyes still pointed in the same direction.

One of the ground crew nervously inclined his head, signaling Haymitch's attention to a point just behind and above Effie's ear.

"Mr. Abernathy…"

Haymitch raised himself from his squatting position in front of his former escort and peered at the side of her head. A dark wet spot had appeared on the scarf she wore now in place of her wigs. The spot was widening.

"Just what are you two gaping at?" Effie snapped, shrinking back from their stare. She lifted a hand to the place they were staring at, and upon lowering it inspected her own sticky red fingers.

"Get a medic up here." Haymitch ordered the crewman.

"No, honestly. I don't…" protested Effie.

"Look," spat Haymitch, "you hit your head, wooden as it is, and you can't walk around here bleeding all over the place. You're going to get it looked at."

"I'll see if my mom's available," interjected Katniss, "She's good at stitching."

"Stitching!" whispered Effie, her eyes growing wide.

Haymitch replied calmly to Katniss, "No. You get on the hovercraft. It'll take you a few hours to get over to 8. In the meantime we'll get her patched up, and I'll be in the control room before you land." He turned to the crewman, "How long will it take for a medic to get up here?"

"Nonsense, Haymitch! I can walk." She wobbled to her feet.

Haymitch and the crewman exchanged a glance. Haymitch sighed and said, "She'll lose more blood in the fight to keep her still than from letting her have her way. You take that arm."

Each man put a hand under one of Effie's arms, and another on her waist. They headed for the elevator as the now unsupervised crew continued loading the hovercraft.

* * *

><p>The directing nurse approached as the trio stepped off the elevator. By the time they reached the triage area, Effie's headscarf had soaked through, and a little rivulet of blood made its way downward from behind her ear.<p>

"What happened here?"

The crewman answered, "Miss Trinket took a fall. She tripped and hit her head pretty hard on the edge of a loading bridge upstairs in the hangar."

"All right," replied the nurse. "Sit her on the examining table in the second bay, there."

They helped Effie onto the table, and she sat with her legs dangling over the side, grimacing now and again; she was beginning to feel the pain that matched the warm stain on her wrap.

After two or three minutes, a tall, thin woman entered the curtained examining area and stood in front of Effie.

"Hello Ms. Trinket, I'm Hetta Rafferty, one of the physicians on duty this morning. I understand you've had a fall." She placed two fingers under Effie's chin and turned her head so that the injured side faced the overhead light.

"Lie down on your right side." The doctor rolled up a towel she removed from a nearby cabinet and continued, "Place this under your neck."

Effie complied, but not before fixing both Haymitch and the crewman with an anxious expression.

"We'll have to remove this scarf," pronounced Dr. Rafferty.

The patient attempted to lift herself up on an elbow. In the same instant, Haymitch and the crewman exchanged their own apprehensive glances.

"Please, I'm not sure…" she began.

Effie stopped herself mid-sentence. She knew what was coming, but she realized how ridiculous it would be to protest removing the bloody scarf from a wound that obviously needed tending, and she couldn't immediately find the words to demand privacy for bandaging a bump on the head.

Haymitch was not insensible to Effie's awkward position and weak protest. Nobody he knew had EVER seen Effie Trinket bareheaded. He, himself, had often speculated about what she was hiding under those wigs: a grotesque, waxed-bald head? Chemically abused straw? Hideously colored crust like that of many women in the Capitol?

He felt an unfamiliar desire to spare her the embarrassment of an exhibition.

"M- Maybe we should wait outside," suggested Haymitch.

"That's not necessary, Mr. Abernathy. We only have rules about observers in the surgical ward. Would you open one of the plastic bags under the countertop? The laundry might be able to get the scarf clean."

Effie laid still, Haymitch held the requested bag, and Dr. Rafferty loosened the knot holding the headscarf in place. Haymitch looked away as the medic slowly peeled the scarf away from Effie's head. He heard a snap, and looked back to see her slide some sort of long clip out of Effie's… …hair.

She had hair... the weight and smoothness of it, unpinned, caused it to spill out onto the examining table around Effie's head. As Rafferty dropped the scarf into the bag, Haymitch detected a light, slightly sweet fragrance, and despite the darkened clinging strands around her ear, the phrase "puddle of honey" drifted into his thoughts.

"We'll trim the hair around the cut before we close it, but I'll anesthetize the skin first," explained the medic.

Effie didn't respond. She had closed her eyes and turned her face toward the table a bit. Beads of sweat formed on her nose and forehead. The expression was pained, but it was not the look of vain humiliation Haymitch expected. It looked more like …vulnerability. Haymitch was startled by the extent to which this exposure altered his perception of Effie. She looked human, a little frightened, and very, _very_ pretty.

This was surreal. He tried to see her the way he always did.

_Crazy woman. Why in the world would she hide such… …why would she hide…? …she's hiding._

As he watched the doctor tie six stitches, his mind wandered back to something his mother had once told him when he was small. She said there was a tribe of ancient people who hid their holy treasures behind layers and layers of curtains and gold, because the real treasure was too precious for ordinary people to look at. They would spoil it.

Of course Effie was hiding. She lived among animals who amused themselves by devouring anything beautiful within their reach. She now lived among blinded moles who treated her with unconditional hostility. Who _wouldn't_ hide?

Haymitch suddenly and inexplicably grew irritated by the presence of the District flight crew worker. The man's presence now felt like an invasion of her privacy. He wasn't entitled to see Effie this way. He barely knew her; he had no history …he should leave.

"You can go back up now. I'll take her back to her quarters," Haymitch turned and muttered to the man standing at his side.

The crewman replied, "It's ok. I can help in case she's weak."

"I said I'd take her!" snarled Haymitch.

The crewman was taken aback. He exchanged surprised expressions with Dr. Rafferty whose eyes traveled between Haymitch and Effie.

"All right," he acquiesced, holding up both hands and backing out of the exam room. "I'll catch you on the next mission."

The physician covered her work with a bit of gauze.

"You may sit up now," she directed Effie. "I'm prescribing rest for the next 48 hours; your schedule will reflect that." She took a blister pack from a cabinet, and put it on the examining table next to Effie's hairpin. "Here are pain relievers for a week. Don't wet your head for a couple of days. Take it easy, and come back in ten days to remove the stitches."

To Haymitch she said coolly, "You appear to be responsible for this woman. See to it she rests, and contact us if she shows signs of nausea or blurred vision." With that, Hetta Rafferty disappeared into another bay, drawing the curtain closed behind her. The two newcomers to 13 were left alone.

Effie made no move to quit the hospital ward. She remained seated on the table, eyes closed, palms resting at her sides on the mattress. Haymitch walked to the table and stood in front of her. The unrestrained waves sat on her shoulders and covered up most of the bandage above her ear.

"Effie," he murmered. She did not respond.

With more tenderness than he had ever mustered, Haymitch slowly raised his hands on either side of Effie's face and sank his fingers into the warm, satiny wisps of hair. He gently gathered them to the back of her head, reached for the clip laying beside her, and fastened it into a reasonable facsimile of what the doctor had undone. He reached for the towel that had recently braced her neck.

Here he hesitated, leaned forward and covered each of Effie's hands with his own. He placed his lips close to her ear.

"_You are the most beautiful woman I have ever seen_," he whispered, almost inaudibly.

Then Haymitch fanned open the towel and carefully folded it around her head. She held it secure with one hand as she slid off the table and walked beside him toward the elevator.


End file.
